Notation — the series
-
The stave is not a ruler
A hundred and eighty essays here draw pitch against an axis somebody computed. The one axis every reader already owns is the five lines, and it is not a pitch axis at all: it counts letters. Seven positions carry twelve pitches, so the same vertical distance is two intervals before an accidental is allowed and six after — and the accidental is not an extra symbol on a complete scale but the repair for a scale with five values missing.
-
Two names for one key
A keyboard has one key between G and A and the page has two names for it. That looks like redundancy and it is not: the two names are twelve fifths apart on a chain, and in every tuning anybody played before the nineteenth century they are two different pitches. The size of the difference is twelve fifths against seven octaves and nothing else — twenty-three cents one way in Pythagorean, forty-one the other way in meantone, and zero at exactly one point in between.
-
The time signature is a claim
A bar line is not a measurement. It is a claim about where the accents are, made before the sound exists, and there is a metre-induction model here that can be handed the same onsets and asked whether it agrees. On a hemiola it does not: the page says three and the model says six, by a margin of twelve against minus four. And on a bar of seven the signature is not even a candidate — what decides the reading is the beaming, which the signature does not contain.
-
The mark that is not a level
There are six of them, they carry no units, and a performer has to turn one into a number before it means anything. What they instruct is not loudness. On a struck string a harder blow shortens the hammer's contact from 2.26 milliseconds to 0.95, which moves the first null of its own pulse from the third partial to the sixth: the partials between those are not quieter at pianissimo, they are gone. A fortissimo is a different sound, and the page has one word for both things it changes.
-
What a tablature keeps
Middle C can be stopped in four places on a guitar. The speaking lengths run from 61 to 27 centimetres, so a hand plucking twelve centimetres from the bridge meets between a fifth and nearly a half of the string, and the comb of missing partials is different at every one: the second partial is thirteen decibels stronger in the best position than in the worst. A stave writes one note for all four. A tablature writes four different things and cannot say which note any of them is.
-
Three notations, one progression
A figured bass, a Roman numeral and a chord symbol are three professional notations for the same four chords, and the number of four-part realisations each of them admits can be counted exactly rather than argued about. With no parallel fifths or octaves the counts are sixteen billion, fifty-nine million and two million: a factor of eight thousand between the loosest and the tightest. What each one collapses is what its tradition thought a chord was, and the three do not agree.
-
The clef is an integer
The first essay on notation found that the staff's vertical axis counts letters rather than pitch, and named the clef as a question it was leaving open. Paid, it is arithmetic: a staff holds eleven letters, no voice or instrument is that narrow, and the eight clefs of European practice step through the axis in thirds — a spacing that buys everything a set of fifteen would buy on a wide range, for eight.
-
The notations invented for the overflow
Every proposal to replace the staff since the seventeenth century is a response to a specific overflow, and the commonest one — a chromatic staff with twelve positions per octave instead of seven — makes a trade computable from the same two integers the clef essay counted. It buys the accidentals outright and pays 40 per cent of the range, three ledger positions for one, and twenty-three enharmonic distinctions that are not merely absent from the page but unrecoverable.
-
The axis that is not a time axis
Eight earlier essays have measured the staff's vertical axis to a position. Its horizontal one has never been asked about, and the answer is that it is proportional to nothing: measured off the typesetter used here, a note gets 58 points before its duration is considered at all and 15 points a crotchet after — so the constant is 93 per cent of what the shortest note gets, and a note four times as long is not four times as wide.
-
How much music a page holds
Nine earlier essays have measured notations, and every one of them is a page — a two-dimensional object read in a fixed order by a reader who has to turn it. One measured the vertical axis and another the horizontal, and multiplying them gives the one design constraint on notation that is not about legibility at all: a chromatic staff turns pages a third more often than an ordinary one, and a proportional spacing rule turns them nearly twice as often as a columnar one.
-
The page is read by an eye
A sight-reader's eye sits a fixed number of notes ahead of the sounding one and a fixation takes in a fixed number of millimetres, and the spacing rule converts between them. Two bounds follow, from the reader rather than from the music — and the one everybody would expect to bind does not. The saccade rate has enormous headroom at any playable tempo, and what decides is acuity.
-
A reader does not read notes
Eleven earlier essays count notes, and the page cannot tell one line of eight quavers from another. A reader can: a scale of eight is one object where eight leaps are eight. Measured against the melodic interval distribution, the same eight notes are four times as much to read — and the eye–hand span, the best-measured quantity in the reading literature, is four notes of a tune and one of a leaping line.
-
Four parts are easier to read than two
Twelve earlier essays read one line, and a score is several at once. Measured through the voice-leading model, a notehead of a four-part chorale asks a reader for 1.30 bits and a note of an independent line asks 1.89 — so twice the ink is less than three quarters of the load. The reason is a boundary those essays already established: a duet has no complete voicing of any triad at all, so two parts cannot be read from their harmony and have to be read as two melodies.
-
Where the note is costs more than which note it is
Thirteen earlier essays measure a page, and the three that price a reader price only its pitches — every line they measure is a run of equal notes. A metrical weight normalised by its own sum is a probability, and minus its logarithm is bits — the same substitution made earlier for intervals. Measured over the tunes used throughout it comes out at 2.23 bits a note against the pitches' 1.89, so the larger half of a reader's load is where the note is.
-
A note lasts until the next one starts
Pricing where a note is against which note it is left duration as the term it had not, with a prediction that it would be small. Measured on the three tunes these readings are built on, it is exactly zero — and it is zero by construction, because those tunes are stored as pitches and lengths with no rests in them, so every duration is its own inter-onset interval. The prediction cannot be tested on the corpus that produced it. Priced directly, a rest costs 0.67 bits a note where a tenth of the notes have one, which is not well under half a bit.
-
The notehead that is not a note
Every quantity so far is charged per notehead, and a tie is the one mark on the staff that puts a notehead on the page carrying no event. Its cost is not the decision that identifies it — that is half a bit where a tenth of the noteheads are continuations. It is the decision plus the whole reading of a notehead that turns out to have been unnecessary, which is 1.05 bits, twice the decision and a fifth of what a note of music costs. Set beside a dot and a longer note value, the tie is five times the price of either and is the only one of the three that can cross a barline.
-
Leaps do not fall where offbeats do
Every reading load computed so far is a sum of two terms priced as though the axes were independent, and an earlier essay named the interaction it could not reach. Measured on the same hundred and one notes every other essay uses, the mutual information between how far a note moves and where it falls in the bar is 0.31 bits — a fifth of the smaller axis, and a sixth of a note's total load. Every reading load published so far is high by that amount, and the quantity saturates at exactly the grid the tunes are notated on, which is the check that it is measuring the music rather than the grid.
-
One number for a page
Four terms and an interaction give a single bit rate per note, and with it the exchange rate a long run of essays has been pointing at. Six kinds of line span 5.26 bits and seven kinds of rhythm span 4.46, so a composer trading a harder tune against a harder rhythm is trading quantities within eighteen per cent of each other — and pages that look nothing alike sit on the same contour. The hardest page on the grid costs 13.96 bits a note and the easiest 4.24, a factor of three and a half, and the subject closes there.